Page 40 of The Menagerie
Rowan grabs his duffel and loads it in back next to the box of supplies, Addison swiftly restocking gauze and antiseptics while watching him in her periphery.
“You suck sometimes,” he mumbles.
“Mm-hmm. So, name?”
He hesitates. Because telling Addison about Mal feels a lot like making it a Thing, which it isn’t supposed to be. It’snota Thing. Well, it’s athing, lowercaset, but not a capitalTThing.There’s a difference. And he really needs to develop a goddamn poker face before he turns thirty.
“It’s no one,” he tells her, settling on a half-truth. “Just a booty call for tomorrow.”
She pauses her restocking. “Oh, I thought you were done with Grindr. Wanted something more serious.”
Fuck. He did tell her that, didn’t he? And hedidwant that for a while. Thought that maybe he could make up for all the anonymous sex of his teens and early twenties with an actual relationship.But it’s hard to meet people when your entire social circle consists of your siblings, whose own social circles are barely more diverse. So he’d resigned himself to just… nothing. Well, except the occasional Grindr hookup, because he’s notthatokay with being single.
Until the Menagerie, that is.
Until Mal.
He’s not stupid. Definitely not naïve. He knows that his impending Dom/sub relationship with Mal isn’t going to turn into anything more. And hell, he might not evenwantit to be more. All he has to go on is a fuck and a meal. A couple of texts. Nothing really. So technically, saying it’s a booty call isn’t a lie.
“Changed my mind.”
Addison gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t comment further.
They finish prepping the ambulance for the day ahead, Rowan making sure to keep the conversation firmly away from his weekend plans. By the time they get their first call and roll out of the station, siren blaring, Rowan’s run out of things to say.
It’s probably unhealthy how much he’s looking forward to seeing Mal again.
ON SATURDAYmorning, Rowan wakes up a full hour before his alarm. Sue him, but he’s a little excited.
He wastes no time preparing a shake for breakfast—frozen fruits, handfuls of fresh spinach, protein powder, milk, and almonds all blended into a sweet drink that he chugs in between dressing in his running clothes.
When he leaves the house, he’s only intending to run a mile, maybe two, to get his blood flowing. But he gets lost in his thoughts, rows of apartments and houses passing by in a blur, giving way to small shops as his legs carry him on his longer route, and before he knows it, he’s hit five miles as his apartment building comes back into view.
It feels good.
Despite the heat and the sweat dripping from his temples when he’s back inside his apartment, he doesn’t bother to do more than splash some cool water on his face and run a wet cloth over his neck and shoulders. He’s planning on taking a much longer shower before he leaves tonight.
By lunchtime he’s already half hard in his sweats, but he forces himself to ignore it, not wanting to have trouble getting it up again tonight. It likely wouldn’t be an issue, but he’s not chancing it.Especiallynot for his and Mal’s first time alone.
Damn.
He’s gonna get to fuck him again in a few short hours.
The anticipation of it makes him feel like an eager teenager again. Idly, he wonders if he’s ever looked forward to seeing anyone as much as this. Not likely. Even in his past relationships, few and far between as they were, he remembers feeling like it was a chore to see his partner rather than a gift. Something to look forward to. Hopefully, it’s a good sign that that doesn’t seem to be the case with Mal, even if they’re only going to be fucking.
When he deems it late enough and he’s tired of pacing his living room and twiddling his thumbs, he showers thoroughly, styles his hair, and dresses similarly to last time, dark jeans but this time with a dark gray button-up shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. He likes showing off the small patch of skin there with the soft curls of his chest hair peeking out through the lapels of the shirt and the low neck of the white tank top he’s wearing underneath. It makes him feel hot. Desirable. Like a goddamn adult man and not the barely legal waxed teen he’d been when he last frequented clubs like this.
The time passes by in a blur, and before he knows it, it’s seven twenty and he’s out the door.
It’s a bit earlier than necessary for him to get there and be ready to go by eight, but since Mal hasn’t texted him again and since he started the gangbang right at 8:00 p.m., Rowan wants to make sure he won’t be late.
The drive over feels like it takes hours, as he hits every red light possible. There was only one light he might have been able to make, had the person in front of him not slammed on their brakes the second it turned yellow. He mentally curses them out, then forces himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel and take a few deep breaths. The last thing he needs tonight is to lose control. It would make for a terrible scene for both of them, and Mal might not give him another chance if he blows it.
The rest of the drive passes without incident, and when Rowan finally pushes through the familiar double doors and approaches the front desk to check in, Camilla is once again stationed behind it. Tonight she’s in what looks like a black jumpsuit that’s unzipped nearly down to her navel, showing off her cleavage. Her eye makeup is strikingly gold and sparkling, accenting her wavy icy blond hair.
Her face lights up when she sees him. “Heeeeyyy!” she calls, voice lilting.
“Hi, Camilla.”
